


Help(less)

by Idjit_01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Depressed Dean Winchester, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Gen, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27502606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idjit_01/pseuds/Idjit_01
Summary: MAYOR TW: GRAPHIC EATING DISORDERS, SUICIDAL THOUGHTS (+ATTEMPT).Also: spoilers s15ep18.Read at your own risk.Everyone Chuck took away is back and are doing normal life again. As there are no monsters and everyone around him has someone else, Dean's on his own and feels bad. SO he drives away and makes several choices that he may or not follow through.Featuring: Dean, a missing angel, a moose, Baby and a frankly abused forest.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Help(less)

It's been about a month since the people Chuck took got back.

Jack and the Winchesters have been living with Jody ever since, still afraid they'll disappear and still feeling the crippling loneliness of a few months on their own. 

The people that got back have been acting like they never left. They don't feel like they lost more than a few seconds.

The Winchesters, though, are taking it harder, which is why Jody invited them to stay with her and the teens.

They're alright.

Jack's been learning to cook with Jody and has been disappearing for hours with Patience, Kaia and Claire.

Alex's been working in the hospital without rest, and Sam... Sam's been almost every day close to Eileen.

Dean, though... Dean has been under a haze ever since Cas disappeared to the Empty.

He was hoping he'd be back when they defeated Chuck, but the Empty is not Chuck, and Cas is... Not back.

To say the last few months have been hard is an understatement.

Dean's been living on coffee and beer for months now. 

It's exactly a month after they're back when it happens.

It's a Tuesday morning, about 5a.m.

Dean awakes with a start, blue eyes disappearing in the dark and a cry being swallowed inside him. He takes the gun under his pillow, all the money he can find and his Baby's keys.

On his way outside he encounters no one, as they are still asleep. 

It's cold, but it doesn't matter. He's used of it by now.

He tucks his hands into his pockets and shrinks into himself, but doesn't quicken his pace. 

He goes into the Impala and only when he's closed the doors and he's cozily seated, he exhales.

When he turns the key and starts the car, though, he jumps.

"Motherfuck-" He hisses.

When the passengers in the back don't stir, he rubs his hand through his face in an exhausted manner.

He thinks of a time where he would put the stereo as loud as he could to awaken them, a time where Sam would jump himself awake and call him Jerk before leaving the car.

He's too tired now, though, and his head has been pounding for about half the time Cas has been gone.

Instead he turns around and shakes Sam.

"Get out," he grumbles when Sam opens his eyes.

Dean looks sideways to his companion and then looks up to Dean with his signature puppy eyes.

"No," Dean growls. "Out."

Sam's face turns into a bitch face before he shakes Eileen and signs something to her.

Dean couldn't understand it even if he tried.

They have somewhat of a conversation before Dean huffs and they walk out.

"Jerk," Sam mumbles and Dean wants to roll his eyes for the predictability of it, but his head hurts too much to eye roll right now.

When he doesn't answer Sam looks back and leans on the windowsill.

"Talk to me, Dean."

Dean glares to the road in front of him pointedly.

After a while, Sam relents.

"Fine." He mutters. "At least tell me where you're going."

Dean huffs, but when it seems like he's not getting out of this, he shuts his eyes. He can't say he's going on a hunt, since the monsters, the supernatural, is all gone. 

"Donna's." He answers.

Sam hesitates, clearly pondering whether to push further or not, but steps back satisfied. 

He opens his mouth, but Dean can't hear it, he's well away from Sam already.

It hasn't been over half an hour when the silence turns too loud and all Dean can hear are Cas's parting words. Versions of _the only thing I want I can't have_ , _I love you_ and _goodbye_ mashing in his head.

He turns the music on. As a Bon Jovi song makes its presence he thinks of the mixtape and shivers, so he changes the station to a local classical music station he hasn't heard about before.

As there aren't words screaming into his ears the words inside his head grow louder. The car swerves as he tries to quiet the thoughts. 

He then fumbles with the radio a couple times until a local pop station turns up and although he would be embarrassed if anyone new he's listening to it he even sings along to it a few times. 

His stomach grumbles several times. When the sharp pangs he's grown accustomed to in the last few months come back with vengeance, he knows what he has to do. 

He drives until the sun comes up and his head feels so fuzzy he's swerving on his own, without a distraction to blame this on.

He sighs relieved when he sees a gas station open just ahead of him.

He parks the car with difficulty as the lines blurr together and takes a few breaths when he's done. There aren't as many black points in his vision and his legs feel steady enough when he finally stands up. The sun is blinding him by now.

He power walks into the gas station and goes straight were he knows he has to go to.

Potato chips, tortilla chips, bread, pie. _A head tilting, a glare, a smile_. Cookies, donuts, ice cream, waffles. _The barn, the wings, the dry-ass humor._ Gummies, whiskey, mints, beer. _You've changed me. I love you._ Water.

He loads everything on the counter as he takes his wallet out.

"64.39" A bored teenage voice claims.

Dean takes his wallet out and his breath catches as he counts his money. 65 dollars. His shoulders slump in relief.

He takes the money out to leave it on the teens hand when he looks up. Eyes as blue as the sky bore into him. His breath catches.

The teen's –girl, guy, he can't tell– brows lift expectantly.

Dean shakes his head and stops the grip on the money.

"Keep the change." He says, voice raspier than he expected it to be.

He takes it all into the backseat of the Impala and drives a few miles in a sideway road to be safe.

Even before he's put the brakes to Baby his hand is deep in the tortilla chips bag and his mouth is fuller than he can chew. 

The chips prod into his cheeks, mouth roof, tongue and throat, but it barely registers alongside the taste of blood it's adding.

He thinks about how Cas has helped him in the past and how he _knew_ when he remade his body after Purgatory. He thinks of how he got him to stop. Of every Cas's other deaths and how he always disappears but _he always comes back_. He chokes on pie and beer and when he notices over half of his purchases are already gone, his stomach is about to burst and hurts like hell, and the beer's gone.

Dean isn't even feeling the alcohol, not with all that _food_.

He turns on his side helplessly _and he can't believe Cas isn't coming back this time_ and then blood and tears and a mix of colores and textures and bits of unbitten food's on the ground _and he's really gone, for good_.

When his stomach feels as empty as it can be and his throat burns even without the whiskey he tries to chug down but immediately goes back up, he's finally stopped crying and he's finished the food and thrown up a few more times.

Dean's on his knees now. He looks at the sky helplessly and prays. "Cas-Castiel, son of a bitch, don't–" His voice is hoarse and he's choking on his own saliva. "I don't need you to love me, _I need you to be back_."

Dean sniffles and stands slowly up, the rancid stink of regurgitated food clogging up his nose.

"I need you. _Please_." He adds, tears or vomit or whatever clogging up his throat.

He swallows forcibly, grimacing, and drinks some water.

Then, out of nowhere, he remembers Cas scolding him for exactly what he's done right now and what he really hasn't stopped doing since his mom died.

But it was better with Cas. It wasn't good, but he helped and _how is he supposed to do it now without him?_.

There aren't even monsters anymore. There is no point to him. He just drags everyone down with him when they are just trying to start over, or move on, or something like that. There's no need for dad's little soldier anymore, and, frankly, that's all he is. Now that all of that is gone, that he doesn't even have anyone to start his own life– He's just _poison_. 

By the time he's calmed down enough to stand up, breathe, drink water and _keep it down_ the sun's already going down.

When he pees behind a tree and comes back to the car _without_ stumbling, he determines he's okay to drive.

He tries to unsuccesfully start the car a few times before he looks down. There's no gas.

Dean whines and hits the wheel with all his might.

When he notices what he's done, he sucks in a breath. 

"Sorry Baby." He whispers. "You don't deserve this."

He thinks of just staying outside leaning on the car, but it's getting cold again and he's tired and he feels awful about what he's done. 

He knows he didn't take his phone; remembers he did it on purpose, so no one could reach him or track him down.

He lies in the backseat determined to get a night's sleep and then walk back to the gas station to ask for a phone. When he reaches down to whatever's poking into his back, he's so relieved he forgets about why he's there for a moment.

When he takes it though, he also feels the gun he usually carries with him and his heart stops.

He takes Sam's phone and the gun and is surprised about how void of emotions he feels while he weighs his options.

He deserves to die, he _wants_ to die. But...

Dean takes the phone and dials. If no one takes it, he's done.

1... 2... 3... 4... 5...

6...7...

"This is Sam's other phone. If it's important call Dean's other other phone, 005..."

Dean doesn't even think of that option.

He shuts the phone and throws it to the side.

He lifts the gun into his mouth –to make sure it blows his brains out– and before he can think twice of it or more unwanted painful memories appear he pulls the trigger.

A ringing reaches his ears and he opens his eyes unsurely. 

He takes the gun out of his mouth and groans.

Of course. _Of course_. Of course he's out of bullets.

The annoying ringing doesn't go away though and with it, the full headache returns. He takes it to get rid of the noise.

"Yeah...?"

"Dean?" Answers Sam, his voice tactful as if he doesn't know what to expect.

Dean whimpers involuntarily, his body shaking, his mind weary of the consequences. Maybe he should just sleep and try to get a ride from any wandering cars in the morning. "Sam," he says firmly. Then his voice cracks. "Pick me up..?"

**Author's Note:**

> This may have gotten a little out of hand. I needed to vent and this came out. I haven't slept, so I can't tell whether it's alright.
> 
> Please tell me if I missed anything and, of course, let me know how you feel about my work.
> 
> I also didn't mean to romanticized the illness, so I really hope I didn't.
> 
> Obviously, this behavior is not encouraged and if you feel like this, please, please, reach out to someone. A counselor, a parent, a friend, a hotline. Anything can help.
> 
> You're worth it. Take care of yourselves~
> 
> P.s. Also, I'm not American and am to tired to look into phone numbers so I have no idea if any numbers start like that there. Please forgive me if it doesn't. Correct me if you want and I may change it.


End file.
